


Starve

by Anythingtoasted



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5.14 coda, pwp; sex!pollen, of a fashion. traces of dubcon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starve

He says, “Dean.” Just that, and slams him up against the door.

It’s a mess;  _they’re_ a mess, Dean shaking from his encounter with Famine, Castiel’s mouth tasting of raw meat, the stench of him  _animal,_ bloody,  _wet._ He fists his hands in Dean’s hair; he says, “Dean.” Just that, again, and there are no other words. He pushes him up against the door of the motel room and  _bites_ him, and Dean understands. He pulls his head back – there’s nowhere to go, and Castiel follows. Dean rips at his shoulders to push him back.

“This – you’re –“ He can’t finish, he doesn’t know.

Castiel looks at him, and his eyes are hopeless. Guilty. “Hungry.” He breathes, and his mouth is on Dean’s again, his hands tightening, hard, in his hair. He pushes so close that Dean is crushed against the door; that Castiel’s thigh is between his own, that Dean can feel every line of him, every muscle; feel that he’s  _trembling._

“Not just-“ he tries, in a gap between them, and then gives up. Gives in. Kisses back. Wishes it was happening some other way; he’d imagined a kiss in cool silence, a word exchanged, maybe – not this heady boil of blood, this  _fever_ ripping Castiel to shreds, turning him inside-out. Castiel breaks from his mouth and kisses his jaw, more teeth than lip, pulling on his flesh hard enough to bruise.

Castiel mutters against his throat, “It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” Helplessly, and Dean pulls him up to his face, by his chin.

“It’s okay.” He lies, and Castiel looks no less horrified by himself. Even with the gap between them – even not kissing – there’s a  _heat_ there, and Castiel’s hands are sliding into the back of his jeans, clenching on the flesh beneath the denim. He clings with his nails; he tenses; he shudders, rutting against Dean’s hip, frenzied, and his breath is  _loud_ in Dean’s ear _._ He tips his head down again, buries his forehead in Dean’s shoulder like he’s drowning; chokes a gasp when Dean’s hands lift, and settle on his hips, and grab him tight.

“Just-“ He’s so tired of non-sequiturs. “Cas.” He says, softly.

Castiel presses a damp, hesitant kiss to his collarbone, and brings their hips together, over and over, pushing him hard against the door, Dean’s skull tipping back, bumping on the wood. He makes helpless, aching sounds that make Dean’s heart clench even as he echoes Castiel’s breaths in return, and he can’t imagine; all this, so new, so terrifying; humanity, so close –  _Castiel,_ so close he can smell the sweat on his flesh.

He digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips and then slides them around the waist of his pants; undoes the top button, works him out of the zipper, deft and careful – mimics the movement on himself, gets them down to boxers (or in Cas’ case, briefs); moves again to Castiel and pulls him out of his underwear, does the same to himself – and looks at Castiel levelly.

He reaches behind himself – pulls Castiel’s hand from where it’s gripping his ass, and lifts the palm to his mouth, close – lets it cup around his mouth, and spits into his palm. Even this, for Castiel, is too much – he’s barely willing to wait, barely willing to  _bear_ Dean’s warm saliva on his palm, dribbling down his wrist. Dean’s breath against his hand. He pushes Dean’s hands away with his wet one and reaches between them to take Dean’s cock in hand – to jack him so fast that Dean curses, tipping his head back against the door, gritting his teeth. Castiel is so close that Dean can feel the hard line of his cock against his hip; can feel his breath pumping in and out of him, his damp, uneasy gasps against his neck.

It’s over too soon; a few heated twists of his hand, the feeling of Castiel’s warm, wet palm sliding up and down, and Castiel is gasping loud against him, not even the one being touched; Dean grabs his wrist, squeezing, as he tenses and gasps and comes into Castiel’s fist; as Castiel moans in response like he’s in pain; he comes, untouched, and pins Dean to the door with his body slumped, his bare cock softening against the fabric of Dean’s pants, wet. He breathes fast and hard like he’s been running, like they’ve been fighting, and Dean catches the end of a sob, pressed against his shoulder.

“I didn’t-“ Dean begins, grappling for words, gasping for breath. His skin is on fire. “Cas, I didn’t  _know.”_

Castiel moves his hands, wet and sloppy with Dean’s come, and fists them in the hem of Dean’s shirt. He tugs. His words come breathless; empty. “Neither did I.”


End file.
